Too Cold to Chase

By Laura Payeur

Avery Phillips, a well-trained FBI agent, suspended for shooting her own partner, has come home. She's come home for one reason, to find the man who killed her father, an honored police Detective. There are a lot of skeleton's trapped in the old family closet. The only way for her to solve the one case that has haunted her is to open those doors...even if it's too cold to chase. There are suspects every way she turns...and no one she can trust. Not even her own dead father.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laura Payeur
• Release date: Feb 25, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466007949

Laura Payeur

Wife, mother, grandmother with a passion for writing murder mystery, crime, and a bit of dark humor. Most of my characters are based on the real-life personalities of people I know and have known in my life. Although, thankfully, rarely are my tales based on real-life events. For example, my husband is still alive and well (for the most part).

Book preview

Too Cold to Chase

by Laura Payeur

Copyright 2012 by Laura Payeur

Published by Laura Payeur at Smashwords

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are solely the product of the author's imagination or are used fictiously. The use of some licensed products have been used without permission, however, not in any defamatory manner. Any resemblences to actual persons living or dead, businesses, places or events is entirely coincidental.

The wind blew through the concrete stones, tossing the unraked leaves. Although it was October, the air was fairly warm. A swarm of colors danced around the headstone, settling in front of her. The cemetery, any cemetery, was an eerie place to be, even on a bright, sun filled day. The silence of the dead could sometimes be overwhelming.

Last year's flowers were nothing but dried up stems in the tall plastic vase that lie on the ground. Avery righted the vase, removing the dead stems and replacing them with a fresh bouquet, nothing special, a convenience store bunch. It was the first time she'd brought them here herself in fifteen years. She was sure her father didn't mind. He had never exactly been fond of flowers anyway. She ran her fingers over the etched letters, David Andrew Phillips, 1950-1995. Forty-five years old, far too young to die.

Fifteen years earlier, Avery had stood on this very spot, listening to the guns fire. Every person her father had ever worked with, spoken to or helped in anyway, stopped to give their condolences. It was an extraordinary long line. When the last person had left them alone, and even her mother had begun to walk away, Avery leaned in to whisper, I'll find him, Dad.

According to the police, no one had a clue who could have killed her father. They refused to even mention the possibility that he'd been working on something. She knew the truth. She hadn't been a child, not at fourteen. Her father's habits were pretty typical. Whenever he had a particularly difficult case, he spent quite a bit of time alone in the basement. David Phillips did his best to keep the evil he saw everyday away from his family. This time he had failed. She stood, slipping on her large, dark sunglasses.

Avery Phillips?

Avery spun on her heels, her hand instantly going to her hip, reaching for her gun, which wasn't there. A tall man, about thirty, with dark brown hair and sunglasses stood in front of her. His hands were tucked in the pockets of his black pea-coat.

Do I know you? she asked, attempting to brush her long blonde curls back away from her face. They continued to danced around her head.

Luke Morgan, he said.

Luke Morgan, she repeated and smiled. Long time, no see.

More than a decade, he said. Come home for a visit?

You could say that. It wasn't what she would have called it, but it would do. What are doing here? In the cemetery, I mean.

I bring my grandmother here every other Sunday, he said.

That's nice of you.

He shrugged.

The wind continued to rustle the leaves around them as they stood in an uncomfortable silence. She could only imagine what he was thinking, but ultimately didn't care.

You're not just here for a visit, are you? he finally asked.

I don't see why it matters, Avery said. She began to walk toward the road.

He followed. It's a simple question.

No, I'm not. She sighed. If you must know.

It's a cold case, Avery.

No shit. She turned to glare at him, knowing he couldn't see her green eyes behind her dark sunglasses. Don't you think it's about time someone solved it?

We do have people to handle the cold cases, he said.

We? she asked, raising an eyebrow.

It's Detective Morgan, he said, his left cheek turned up in a partial grin. Agent Phillips.

I'm on my own time. She smirked. Detective.

But you're in my town, he argued.

Your town?

Well... so to speak. He sighed. Look, I understand why you feel the need to do this, I really do, but fifteen years, Avery. That's a long time. We haven't had one new lead. If something was there don't you think someone would have found it by now?

You're not me, she said. This is why I've been chasing the bad guys for the last eight years. And I'm going to find out who killed my father.

Do you even have any idea where to start? He threw up his hands.

At that moment, she wished she could see his face. Maybe look into his eyes. Then she might have an idea if he was sincere or not. "Not yet, but as soon as I go through all of